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After paying respects at Maester Oswell's grave, Arthur, Fat Karen, and Kellen returned to Starfall.
On the way back, Arthur ordered, "Organize all the account books for the past year's project expenditures. Have them ready after lunch; I want to review them."
"Notify the heads of all projects to be at Starfall the morning after next. I will hear their reports all at once."
"As you wish, my Lord," Fat Karen replied.
Upon reaching his bedroom in the keep, the familiar layout and peaceful atmosphere immediately triggered a wave of exhaustion. A powerful drowsiness washed over him. Without even taking off his clothes, his head hit the pillow, and he fell into a deep sleep.
After enduring a continuous year of suppression warfare in the Red Mountains—sleeping in the open and maintaining constant high vigilance—the dual toll on his body and mind was too much even for Arthur's abundant energy.
He didn't know how long he slept. In his dream, he vaguely felt a hand tugging at the beard on his chin.
Arthur opened his eyes to see Ashara's pink little face filling his vision.
Letting his daughter continue to pull on his beard, Arthur looked around. Outside the window, the night was dark; inside, candles were lit.
"Why didn't you wake me earlier?" Arthur asked Nymeria, who was sitting by the bed. "Has Fat Karen organized the accounts?"
A flicker of tenderness crossed Nymeria's dark eyes. "You were sleeping so soundly, I wouldn't let anyone disturb you. I had the steward leave the accounts in the small hall."
"Dinner is ready in the kitchen. Go eat first."
"Mm." Arthur did feel empty inside. He pinched Ashara's little hand, which was still wreaking havoc on his chin, and climbed out of bed.
Truth be told, babies didn't know their own strength. Sometimes they pulled hard enough to rip out a few hairs.
Dinner was sumptuous. Arthur took the opportunity to invite Starfall's new Maester, a man he was unfamiliar with, to join him.
The Maester's name was Cregan. He had a full beard and looked to be in his forties. According to his introduction, he was the son of a tanner, born and raised near the Kingswood in the Stormlands before going to the Citadel.
"Before Maester Oswell passed away, you served as his assistant for a time. You should know something of his deeds." Arthur cut open a soft roll, deboned a roasted lamb chop, and placed the meat inside to make a lamb burger.
"Maester Cregan, what did you think of Maester Oswell?"
In theory, Maesters had no political leanings. When they earned their chain, they were stripped of their family names and swore to serve the lord of the castle where they were stationed, offering wise counsel.
However, Maesters were not tools. Men like Maester Oswell were the exception. Most could have their own political biases.
The most typical example was Grand Maester Pycelle, who sat on the Small Council. He was sworn to the realm but was awed by Tywin and served the Lannisters.
A Maester's duties included tutor, healer, and advisor, plus managing the ravens that carried intelligence. Their authority was significant.
If a castle's Maester had divided loyalties, it was impossible to guard against.
This was why both Lady Dustin and Godric Borrell distrusted Maesters deeply, calling them "grey rats."
"My Lord." Maester Cregan wore the standard Maester's attire: loose grey robes with a chain of many metals around his neck.
"I have reviewed the records from Maester Oswell's tenure. He served every Lord of Starfall with utmost dedication. I admire him greatly."
Arthur paused in chewing his homemade burger, his sharp violet eyes fixing on the Maester.
He noted that Cregan's gaze didn't waver when he answered, nor did his fingers tremble unnaturally—details used to judge a man's honesty.
After swallowing the tender lamb and soft bread, Arthur said, "Admiration alone isn't enough. Do you have any counsel for Starfall's development?"
Maester Cregan's eyes flickered. Finally, seeming to make up his mind, he said, "My Lord, permit me to speak frankly."
He put down his knife and folded his hands on the table.
"You have invested heavily to support various plans, causing the domain to develop at a breathtaking pace."
"You led troops to achieve military success in the Red Mountains, earning the honorary title of Warden of the Red Mountains."
"These are undoubtedly extraordinary achievements, massive successes."
"However!" Cregan took a deep breath, seeming to choose his words carefully.
"Behind these successes lies the investment of a million gold dragons and the consumption of vast resources to supply the army for war!"
Finally, he gritted his teeth and concluded, "Such rapid development cannot be replicated indefinitely, and the dangers of war are something you, having experienced battles large and small, know all too well."
The dining room fell silent. Arthur put down his burger and looked seriously at Maester Cregan. In a deep voice, he said, "Continue. Your counsel?"
"I suggest that for the current stage and the near future, we should gradually slow down, tighten the budget for additional development investments, and consolidate the gains already made."
"We should not continue to push heavily funded development plans or launch continuous wars as we did in the past year."
Arthur was genuinely surprised by Maester Cregan's advice.
Under the stimulus of his "flood irrigation" spending of a million gold dragons, the Torrentine domain had indeed developed rapidly.
But sometimes, growing too fast wasn't entirely good. Especially with unsustainable financial stimulus like the million gold dragons, it was easy for the domain to fall into economic overheating or even a crisis of control.
What Arthur had seen and heard on his journey back to Starfall along the Torrentine already showed some signs of this.
His summoning of the project heads to audit the accounts was partly intended to tighten the reins and gradually cool things down.
As expected of a scholar from the Citadel. He really knows his stuff.
"Maester Cregan speaks wisdom." Arthur raised his wine cup, his voice filled with sincere appreciation.
"The morning after next, I will convene a council with the project heads. I would like Maester Cregan to be there and offer me further counsel."
Maester Cregan's eyes lit up. He stood and bowed with his cup, the wide sleeves of his robe trembling slightly. "It would be my honor, my Lord."
Suppressing his excitement, Maester Cregan noted the shift in address from "Maester" to "Cregan" (or a respectful "Master Cregan" depending on context nuance), clearly feeling Lord Arthur's approval of his words.
After draining his cup, Maester Cregan said, "Although I may not have as much experience as Maester Oswell, I will do my utmost to assist you, my Lord."
He had taken a great risk offering such blunt advice. Lord Arthur was young and his achievements were dazzling.
Whether it was the unprecedented titles of Governor of the Dornish Marches, Warden of the Red Mountains, and Sword of the Morning...
Or the victories and honors won in war and tourneys—Cregan had heard the song Seven Campaigns of the Dawn praising Lord Arthur.
Or the leapfrog development in domain governance.
For an ordinary young man, achieving just one of these would be enough to make him arrogant and dismissive of others.
Yet Lord Arthur, at the peak of his success, could humbly accept advice from a novice Maester like him. It even seemed he had already planned to calm down and consolidate. In terms of temperament alone...
Lord Arthur's success was definitely not accidental.
Sipping his Amber Peach Wine, Arthur was naturally unaware of Cregan's internal monologue.
He simply appreciated Cregan's courage to speak the unvarnished truth, and the advice offered coincided perfectly with his own thoughts.